And just like anything we’re obsessively into, we want to know the whole world of the thing we love. So imagine my joy when, one day in 1986, I walked up to the paperback rack at Fred Meyer and found this;

Yes, I’ve had this copy since 1987. I last reread it in 2013.

Remember when Ferris, Sloane and Cameron went to the baseball game and Ferris caught the ball? Well, he got it autographed by having himself lowered into the dugout from above, which led to the gang getting interviewed on the radio. The book is full of scenes, conversations, and whole characters who never made it into the movie.

In one scene, Ferris and Sloane go to cash one of his savings bond, to finance their day off – hey, baseball tickets and French cuisine don’t come cheap. They nearly run into Ferris’ mother at the bank, who’s there setting up the damn deal with the Vermont People.

There’s even two Bueller kids you never saw. Kimberly was 12, a Madonna-wannabe who tormented 7-year-old Todd. All you saw of them in the movie were some crayon drawings on the fridge. You can see blink-and-you’ll-miss-it clips with Kimberly, and the sullen teen son of the Vermont People in this trailer.

There are more bits of deletia to be found in the original script, including a one-line appearance by Cameron’s dad, and a scene where Ferris relates a tragic story:

“His name is Garth Volbeck. He’s a serious outsider. Not a bad guy, I like him. I’m probably his only friend. I do what I can for him. I mean, if I was him, I’d appreciate it. Do unto others, right?

Anyway, his mother owns a gas station. His father’s dead and his sister’s rumored to be a prostitute, which is complete bullshit. She only puts out so people will hang out with her. It’s sad but I don’t hold it against her. Better to hold it against the guys who use her and don’t care about her.

My parents never allowed Garth over here. It was because of his family. Mainly his older brother. He’s in jail. I could see them not wanting his brother here because he is a registered psycho. I wouldn’t want him here. I once watched the guy eat a whole bowl of artificial fruit just so he could see what it was like to have his stomach pumped.

But Garth isn’t his brother. It isn’t his fault that his brother’s screwed-up. A lot of fights with the parents on that point. I always felt for Garth. I was sleeping at his house once and I was laying on the dark worrying that his brother was going to come in and hack me to death with an ax and I heard Garth crying. I asked him what was wrong and he said, “Nothing”. … Nothing was wrong. There was no specific thing he was crying about. In fact, he wasn’t really even aware that he was crying. He just cried himself to sleep every night. It was a habit. The guy’s so conditioned to grief that if he doesn’t feel it, he can’t sleep.

How could you possibly dump on guy who has to deal with that kinda shit? My parents acknowledge the trudge of the situation and I’m sure that deep down, they do feel for him but still the guy’s banned from our house. Unfortunately, now my parents have a legit argument. Garth doesn’t need his brother to give him a rep anymore. He’s getting one on his own. He’s lost. It’s over for him. He’s eighteen. Gone from school. Gone from life. His legacy is a gas station.”

Bleak, huh? The name Volbeck made it into the movie, on the tow truck that tows Rooney’s car. It turns up again in the script, when Jeanie Bueller is leaving the police station with her mother. You remember part of the scene:

JOYCE

Don’t “hi” me, young lady. Get your stuff.

(Oh yeah, btw, the mom’s name was Joyce before it was Katie.

Jeanie reaches down for her purse.

BOY

What’s your name?

JEANIE

Jean. What’s yours?

BOY

Garth Volbeck.

So, the kid’s life is shit, but he gets a cute girlfriend, which is cool. At least, until she goes off with Patrick Swayze.

We’re pretty firmly on record as big Community fans here at the Sub-Basement, and as fans of Harmontown, Dan Harmon’s live weekly show and podcast. Between Harmontown, and Dan’s commentaries on the Community DVDs, some commonalities started to emerge; slightly depressive, self-diagnosed Aspie, tends to get hyper-focused on certain things, to the exclusion of other important things, like social niceties and hygiene? One conclusion became clear. Mowrer and I basically are Dan Harmon. Dan Harmon basically is Mowrer and me.

It doesn’t help that I have my own Erin McGathy, a redheaded significant other with a sizable age difference. She, Mrs. Richmond, was the one who insisted that we must never, ever actually meet Dan Harmon, or the resulting singularity would cause the universe to implode.

I’m pleased to report that that’s not the case. Harmontown, the documentary, played in Seattle last September, and with it came Harmontown, the live weekly show and podcast, and with that came Dan Harmon.

We caught up with Dan between the movie and the podcast. The brief conversation we had was slightly less fragmented than what is portrayed here; we gave him a print of the strip in which he appeared, he accepted it graciously and shook our hands, and that was about it. The universe remains intact.

(And I vehemently deny that I was secretly hoping he’d be so impressed he’d call us to the stage during the podcast. That would have been crazy. A crazy, crazy dream…*sob*)

We’re pleased to bring you this scene from the 78th Annual Banquet Of The Loyal Order Of Professional Paranormal Investigators And Eliminators! The MC for this evening is Mr. Lawrence “Larry” Lawrence, professional Ghost Breaker since 1940.

At table 1 is Edward Spencer Jr. and Tracy T. Gorilla. Mr. Gorilla is a founding member of the Ghost Busters (not to be confused with their better-known, similarly-named counterparts), while Mr. Spencer was a member from 1986-88.

They are joined by Gilbert Ghost, representing the Ajax Ghost Exterminators. Gilbert has asked us to pass on the best wishes of M. Mouse, founder and proprietor.

Table 2 boasts several members of the prestigious New York Chapter of the Ghostbusters. There’s Dr. Egon Spengler, who wishes to remind us that his team are the “Real” Ghostbusters. He is joined by his “Extreme” young protégé Kylie Griffin. There’s the latest member of the team, identified only as “Rookie” – oh, those Ghostbusters and their hazing rituals! Rounding out the ensemble is Dr. Ray Stantz, “The Heart Of The Ghostbusters.” He’s recounting to Rookie one of their greatest adventures – hopefully we’ll get the whole story someday!

Tonight’s banquet is cause for celebration, as we welcome the newest franchise, also called the Ghostbusters, to the LOOPPIAE. We’re looking forward to seeing this new team in action, and may you be an inspiration to Ghost Busters, Ghost Exterminators, Ghost Breakers, and Ghostbusters everywhere!

We need to mobilize, Sub-Basementeers! You know that building you pass on the way to work, that faux-adobe building that’s a family-owned Mexican joint, that clearly used to be a Taco Bell? That one that’s next to the Indian restaurant that used to be a Pizza Hut, and the thrift store that used to be a Safeway? Well, one of those former Taco Bells was the very FIRST Taco Bell!

Courtesy of UsedToBeTacoBell.com

The building is in Downey, California, and like every former Taco Bell, it’s housed a variety of small eateries. Its most recent occupant, a seafood restaurant, closed in December, and if a new tenant can’t be found, the building may be demolished.

But this former Bell doesn’t have to go flatulently into that good night. Taco Bell has started a Twitter campaign with the hashtag #SaveTacoBell. Here at the Sub-Basement, we think they can do better than that. As we tweeted a couple of weeks ago:

Come on. Where the hell else do you want to go when it’s three AM and the munchies kick in? What else can you do when you only have fifteen minutes for both lunch AND your post-lunch deuce? Save Taco Bell!

Regarding Mowrer’s pose in panel 1: I’m happy to see Mowrer going public with his deep, abiding love of Miley Cyrus. He’s had a Hanna Montana poster on his wall since 2006, and when we worked together he was known to bring his “Hanna” merchandise into the office. Way to own your obsession, big guy.

It’s an undeniable fact that I have terrible handwriting. My hands are big lummoxy slabs of meat, completely unsuited for any work requiring fine motor control. My mother used to say it was because I was born with the cord wrapped around my neck, an explanation I used to accept, until I realized my own mother was saying I was brain-damaged.

Today’s strip is taken almost verbatim from a real incident, from back in the days when Mowrer and I were karaoke regulars at Mandarin Gate in Seattle (incidentally, the singer preceding me, Amy-Amy-Amy, was a fellow regular; looking like nothing more than a meek little Christian accountant, she would get up and belt out Journey songs to make Steve Perry proud).

I get it. Writing with my ham-hands, in the dark, with a stubby golf pencil that was last sharpened during the Carter administration, it’s a wonder he was able to make out as many of the letters as he did. And then the poor guy has to go and figure out how to pronounce “Mowrer.”

If you’ve seen The Hudsucker Proxy (and you should), or if you’ve read A Confederacy Of Dunces (and you really should), you may remember the theme of Rota Fortunae, or Fortune’s Wheel. The gist of it is that fate, anthropomorphized as Dame Fortuna, spins a wheel that randomly determines your fate. One day, the Wheel spins against you and you have to shell out over seven grand for plumbing repairs, as happened to Mowrer last week. The next day, the Wheel spins your way and you win the lottery. The day after that, you’re tied to chair getting worked over by some IRS guys with a tube sock full of nickels.

To simplify the idea; This, too, shall pass. The wheel in the sky keeps on turning. To every thing, there is a season. Sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes, well, the bar…he eats you.

To simplify further; shit happens.

That’s why, unlike Ignatius J. Reilly, I follow the philosophy of the great thinker Emmet Lathrop Brown: Your future is what you make it, so make it good one.

Enough of my pseudo-philosophical claptrap. Didja like the strip? Then find us on Facebook and Twitter, or dig into our Archives!

Yes, it’s a new era for The Sub-Basement! Why watch Joel McHale stand in front of a greenscreen on The Soup, when you can watch TWO guys stand in front of a greenscreen? Yes, with the desk gone, you get a much better view of…um…my gut. I guess it’s time to bring back the novelty t-shirts.

It’s furniture month in the Sub-Basement, apparently. Come for the couch, stay for a two-parter about desks! Can an eight-part epic about chairs be far behind? Spoiler: no it can’t.

Mowrer Sez: I’d like to give a shout out to Benjamin Nimmons, one of my co-workers at Expedia Global Design. At our company “White Elephant” gift exchange, Ben had the good taste to steal the privilege of appearing in The Sub-Basement from another of our co-workers that was bewildered as to what exactly this “gift” was. Thanks Ben!

You’d be forgiven for assuming that Mowrer and me are gay. I get it. We’re not “bro”-type guys. We’re not only not into sports, we find the way they work arcane and baffling. We spent our early twenties at Rocky Horror. We spent several years as housemates (with Christian, part of that time). Plus, we’ve been best friends for over twenty years, and that can lead to a certain Akbar and Jeff-like symbiosis. Hey Mowrer, too bad the parsley’s not orange!

For the record – and this is canonwithin the strip – we’re both happily married to wonderful women, and were each other’s best men.

The question used to come up a lot back in the Movie Geek Show days. We weren’t surprised when an email from a viewer asked if there was a “subtle gay undertone to the show,” or if it was their imagination. At the other end of the spectrum, though, was the troll who called our home phone number at 3 am to ask, “are you guys fuckin’ homos together or what?”

So, no, it’s not a problem if you think we’re gay. The only time we have a problem with it is when someone has a problem with it.